


back down to this western town

by snsk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boyband AU, Crack, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Romance, and lydia controls their lives obvs, background mclahey, bodyguard erica, derek eyebrowing tm, j-swizz from da hud, rnboyd, rocknb isaac, rocknroll scott, you're a poop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is in a boyband. Boybands are the (wolfs)bane of Derek's life. </p><p>(Or, tight jeans should be banned, somebody needs to delete Derek's search history, and none of them are really sure what kind of music they play.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	back down to this western town

The crowd is screaming and sobbing and hyperventilating and taking off their shirts and most of them are below thirteen years old and it's all just very overwhelming for Derek. 

Derek's in the moshpit. Derek can't escape because Laura and Peter are guarding the doors. Derek rues the day he'd agreed to that idiot bet in the first place. Derek feels extremely stupid for ordering them to ensure he carried his end of the bargain out if he'd lost. Derek is at least a head taller than anyone else in the moshpit. Derek might be going permanently deaf.

But. No. Derek is a man and a wolf. No man or wolf has run from a boyband before and Derek's certainly not going to be the first. So Derek squares his shoulders as You're A Poop troops out to the squealing adultation of the crowd. 

"Hi!!!!" calls out the first one. "Hello, Beacon Hills, you're amazing!" He's got dark brown hair and a smiley kind of smile and he'd come onstage with a lanky curly-haired one who's looking at him like he's giving an incredible oration instead of telling a bunch of girls and Derek that they're screaming really well.

Next up is a chocolate-skinned one who's got a nice smile and looks like he tells the rest of the band to go to bed at the proper times. He's followed by one who looks kinda like an asshole, an attractive asshole with icy blue eyes and an air of disdain but who the girl beside Derek yells her lungs out for like she's drowning, so it's probably just Derek.

Derek loses his hearing for a bit after the girl's lingering shriek and has to dig at his ear in panic.

When he regains hearing again, Smiley's introducing: himself as Scott, Curly as Isaac, who waves happily, Only Sensible Looking One In Boyband as Boyd, who smiles and salutes, and Looks Like Asshole as Jackson, who does a head nod, like, 'sup. Derek backs away from the girl who's opened her mouth to scream again, a manic glint in her eye, and almost misses the fifth member of You're A Poop run onstage.

"Sorry, sorry," Fifth Member says, panting, "got stuck in the skinny jeans again, sorry-" and two things happen at once: 1) Derek's jaw drops open, and 2) the crowd goes wild with amusement, like Fifth Member had said something side-splitting instead of what was probably the truth, how did these boybanders even get into those figure-hugging black skinnies which showed the curve of their ass and the lines of their thighs, it was probably Vaseline, Vaseline oh god, Vaseline all slick against the skin of Fifth Member's ass or maybe shiny against his plush pink lips shiny like the precum at the tip of his dick when Derek's making him whimper and Derek-

retracts his claws and tells his wolf slash libido to calm the fuck down and stop behaving like the wolfy counterpart of a thirteen year old girl, wait, what. He snaps his mouth shut, swallows that bit of saliva threatening to turn into drool back past his lips, and curses this incredible vantage point - he's going to be only a few metres away from Fifth Member's ass for the entirety of the concert.

"And that's Stiles!!" Scott announces. "Say hi to Stiles, everybody!"         

Derek does not say hi to Stiles. Instead he glares up at the stage, a natural and instinctive defense, and tries not to look at Stiles and his pretty lips and his big shiny eyes and his ass in those (sparkly or is it the stage lights??) black skinnies. When in doubt (and Derek is undoubtedly in doubt about his extremely sexual feelings towards Fifth Member aka Stiles aka boybANDER), Derek scowls.

His aggressive scowling is probably what gets Stiles' attention in the first place.

Stiles is grinning and waving back at the crowd. Then he sees Derek, and his eyes widen. Their eyes meet and Stiles cocks an eyebrow, like, what on earth, pedo, why're you at a concert meant almost exclusively for the target demographic of under fifteen females and why're you glaring at us like that and why're you trying so hard not to look at the lower part of my torso?

Possibly Derek is reading too much into that raised eyebrow. Possibly he's feeling a tiny bit insecure about being here, so sue him. He glares intensely back at Stiles' enquiring look, and after a few moments Stiles smirks - god/damn/ boybanders - and turns away, as the (upbeat energetic drumbeaty) opening chords of their first song plays.

An hour into the concert, and Derek is questioning his taste in music, his taste in men, and generally his life choices. 

Because the thing is. You're A Poop is good. Like. Not profound lyrics haunting melodies intricate instrument playing good, but, like. They know what works. Their songs swing between Angsty Teenage Longing and Young Wild Spirit, toe the line between innocent and suggestive, and are instantly, ridiculously catchy.

And there's also the /attractive/ thing, which Derek is unwillingly reminded of every time Stiles turns - every few minutes - to sing a particularly innuendo-ed lyric at him, or throw a smirk in his direction, or wink when he sees Derek inadverdently drum fingers on his jeans at a particularly catchy tune. He's being obnoxious and annoying and he's got  irritatingly long eyelashes which lower whenever he sings a solo in their slower songs and a ridiculous voice which sounds like clear varnish and chocolate, does that even make sense, nothing in Derek's life makes sense anymore.

The concert finally finally finishes with a second encore and a bow and an exaggerated wink Derek's way, and Derek makes a beeline for the exit.

He's stopped by a woman in red. Like, her hair is red and her blouse is red and her fingernails are scarlet. She's very pretty. She's also blocking Derek's great escape.

"They want you backstage," she tells him, a tablet balanced on one arm. She's not even looking at Derek, but rather down at it, frowning at something. "Let's go, then."

"I don't wanna go backstage," Derek says, aware that he sounds like a four year old.

She looks up at this. Her eyes are steely and sure and probably capable of making sure Derek's body is never found. Derek's wolf whimpers. "You're going backstage," she informs him, calm, "because I want Stiles to owe me this, so either you come willingly or I drag you by your hair, kicking and screaming."

She turns on her heel and stalks away. Derek decides not to be suicidal, since it's only Tuesday, and follows.

Backstage is a mess of clothes and soft glowy lights and boys laid out everywhere. Scott and Isaac are playing Playstation, Boyd's on the sofa and got earphones in and Jackson and Stiles are on their stomachs, inspecting their respective packets of food.

"Ugh," Jackson says. "Ugh, that's not even a colour, no."

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it," Stiles says, lifting a piece of stringy-looking meat to eye level and staring at it consideringly. "Pizza doesn't look like much, looks like a mismatch of rejects, a party of the loser kids Pineapple and Unidentifiable Meat and Pepperoni, hanging out at the bleachers, but everyone likes pizza." 

"This looks like vomit," Jackson snaps. "Pizza doesn't look like vomit. And you're a loser kid, don't talk."

Could Probably Make Derek's Death Look Like An Accident, in front of Derek, rolls her eyes and says, "Loverboy's here, Stiles. You owe me. I'm collecting."

Stiles looks up and brightens. "Glary!"

"My name's not Gary," Derek informs him.

"No, Glary!" Stiles repeats. "Because the murderous glare, like with the Eyebrows and stuff, see?" 

"Not really," Derek says, just to be contrary.

"Sit down," Stiles invites, patting the floor next to him. Derek sits down, it would probably be rude not to, he's glared enough. "Want some lasagna?"

"No," Derek says. "It looks like diarrhoea."

"Even Glary says so," Jackson agrees.

"I have a name, it's Derek," Derek feels the need to point out.

"Mm, irykGlry," Stiles says around a mouthful of vomity lasagna.

Derek and Jackson abruptly lose their appetite.

"Why You're A Poop?" Derek asks the room at large, mostly to distract himself from how simultaneously disgusting and adorable Stiles looks shoveling weird-ass food in his mouth.

There's a loud whoop and Scott throws his controller into the air, nearly breaking Isaac's curly skull. "Oh, sorry, sorry, 'zak," and he runs fingers through Isaac's curls until Isaac stops looking traumatized and starts looking like he's about to purr. "Aw, hey there, Larry!"

"It's Glary," says Derek. "And it's not even Glary. It's Derek."

"Sorry, the crowd's really loud, it's hard to hear what these people are saying sometimes," Scott says. He slides off the comforter, Isaac close behind, and goes over to Derek, reaching out a friendly hand. "Hi, Derek. What were you asking?"

"You're A Poop," Derek reminds.

"You know, for a fan who got backstage, you kind of suck," Jackson comments.

Derek scowls ("Thertisgayn!!" Stiles says happily, mouth still full). "I'm not a fan."

"I named the band," Scott says proudly. "When I was six. And Stiles said okay, and it stuck."

"So help us god," Jackson says.

"I like it," Isaac says loyally.

"'course you would, wouldn't you?"

"Jackson," Boyd warns from the couch, without taking his earphones out.

Jackson rolls his eyes but doesn't continue. 

"Why do you all look like you're in different bands?" Derek asks, genuinely curious. "Onstage. Like, you're all in denial about the fact that you're singing bubblegum pop, the way you sing." He doesn't quite know how to explain it.

"Scott thinks he's in a rock band, that accounts for all the jumping and the screaming," Stiles offers, having swallowed.

"So does Isaac," Scott says defiantly. 

Isaac says, "Boyd wants us to go more rnb. I'd like that, too." He looks at Scott. "RocknB," he amends. Scott smiles at him and drags him off to another game.

"Stiles thinks he's indie, which would probably explain all the fucking weirdness and the totally smoked lyrics he writes," Jackson says.

"Shut the fuck up, you rapper wannabe!" Stiles shoves at Jackson's side and adds conspiratorally to Derek, "we don't really talk about his delusions, like the ones where he's from da 'hood, runs a crack gang and wears his pants obscenely to prove it."  

"I'm not above telling Lydia about the /thing/," Jackson says meanly.  

Stiles squeals and hits Jackson. "You promised! You said the words thing and Lydia in the same sentence! You promised you wouldn't even do that! Jackson!"

"Shove off, Stilinski," Jackson says irritably, and heaves himself up to sit with Boyd. 

Derek, however, pauses. "Stilinski," he says slowly. "As in-"

"Sheriff?" Stiles asks, stopping his nervous breakdown. "Yeah, m'dad's here. I grew up here." There's a note of /something/ in his voice, but Derek knows better than to ask, now.

"Oh-" he remembers the kid, now, his mother's friend's son, all big eyes and sucking on his thumb, huge grin, except at the funeral, "-oh. Right."

"And you're Derek Hale," Stiles says simply.

"How d'you-"

"Same town for years," Stiles shrugs.

"I would've-" remembered you, is the end of the sentence, but Derek remembers that he isn't a thirteen year old girl with a crush and refrains from saying such a cheesy thing immediately.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "No, you wouldn't've - you moved away, remember, after the - thing, we weren't even in the same school."

(Derek hasn't been back long, two years perhaps, after he and Laura took that four year break to recover from the - the fire - Laura had said, "we need to get out of this place, baby boy," and she'd been right. Going away had hurt, coming back had hurt, but not moving on, not healing, staying stagnant for years in a puddle of misery in that little town after the fire would've caused the hurt to be burned under their skin pemanently. Derek really loves his sister, sometimes.)

"I didn't say remember you," Derek says instead. "Who said I said remember you?"

Stiles stops looking sort of sad (because Derek knows he's got shit that doesn't like to be remembered too) and crinkles his eyes at Derek, winks at him gleefully. He's got delicious moles all over and some vomity looking cheese on his cheek. "Don't deny it, Derek! The power of Stiles. I'm very memorable. It's the ass." He wiggles on his stomach, shoving his ass in the air. "The power of the Stiles Ass. Be overpowered! Brings all the boys to the yard."

Derek wonders how a person can be so simultaneously attractive and annoying.

"Do stop carrying on, Stiles," Lydia says, coming back into the room. "Derek, your sister and uncle are asking for you."

Derek finds it kind of creepy how she knows who they are already.

"Don't go, Glary," Stiles begs, looking up at him with wide brown eyes and lowered lashes.

"I'm - I'm going," Derek says, with a helluva lot more conviction than he feels. Goddamn boybanders. "Got to - go. Laura."

"Wait, gimme your phone," Stiles demands, scrambling up. His black tee rides up over his stomach, a long pale line.

"Why?" Derek enquires suspiciously.

"I wanna delete all your contacts and replace them with names of Harry Potter characters, what d'you think?"

"I think no," Derek says.

"Stop being such a sourpuss," Stiles chides.

"That's not a word," Scott says, not tearing his eyes away from the screen.

"I'm not even going to bother with a response, Scott, you know it is. Derek!"

Derek looks from Lydia's narrowed eyes to Stiles' puppy ones, and realises he has no say in the matter anymore, never did. He pulls out his phone. Stiles catches it, easy, and types in something, grinning triumphantly to himself because boybanders are maniacs. Their fingers touch over the phone. Derek feels a little flutter in his stomach. He frowns extra hard at Stiles to make up for it.

Stiles just laughs, darts forward and pecks him on the cheek, which. Derek will Think About This later. Or never. Or tonight. "We'll be back soon, Glary," he assures him. "Say bye, everyone."

"Bye, Gary," Jackson calls, because he's an asshole. Derek knew it.

Boyd waves. He looks a bit tired compared to the rest, who are all still hopped up on adrenaline and probably drugs. Definitely drugs, they're all high.

"Bye, Larry!" Scott says, shooting at Isaac onscreen. He's not being an asshole, he genuinely thinks Derek is Larry.

"Bye, Derek," Isaac calls, his character spurting out impressive amounts of blood.

"Why'd you call Larry Derek?" Derek hears Scott ask him.

"Bye, Glary," Stiles says, and he's smiling at him, teasing and familiar, hair missed up and vomity lasagna still on his skin, like they're already friends, like this is a thing, and god. Damn. Boybanders.

Derek stalks out.

 

Things Derek does that night are:

1) tell Peter that he's losing the next bet, and probably his claws tomorrow when Derek isn't tired and sleepy from a fucking teenybopper concert.

2) tell Laura that no he does not have an "adorable crush on the small one," and maybe her claws will be the next to go once Derek's finished taking a short nap because has he mentioned teenybopping and screaming is exhausting?

Things Derek certainly does not, what the fuck're you on, deny till his dying breath do that night are:

1) fumble sleepily for his phone when it chimes when he's just drifting off and smile sort of fondly and stupidly at the text from Stiles' Milkshakin' Ass which reads:

back on the tour bus could use ur angry glowy red eyes for a nightlight aleep tight glary xx 

**Author's Note:**

> all typos and corrections welcome bc there will be bc no beta and no proper research on the way boybands work (((if you don't count an accidental... new... obsession... with a certain... British... boyband...))) 
> 
> (((((((((who am i kidding you're a poop was based on 1d + i've been majoring in obsessive studies on boybands all my life)))))))  


End file.
